


Bound to Break

by theamazingbard, wherethewordsare



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Soul Bond, no beta we die like renfri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28942206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamazingbard/pseuds/theamazingbard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherethewordsare/pseuds/wherethewordsare
Summary: "It’s loud. So fucking loud. All the… emotions stemming from Jaskier are bright, flashing colors behind his eyes.Some are easier to read than others. Sad and mad among the easiest. Beyond those… things get complicated.For once, Jaskier might be more suited to handle spells and enchantments better than he can."-After having walked into an (obvious) trap, Geralt and Jaskier have to deal with the consequences of feeling ones emotions. This might've been easier before Geralt dismissed him on the dragon hunt. But then, when have things ever been easy?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 313





	Bound to Break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asweetepilogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asweetepilogue/gifts).



> written for our good friend nili's bday. which was over a month ago. 
> 
> happy bday queen!  
> We love you to pieces darling

“You look like you could use a drink,” a voice hums soft and low against his ear. Jaskier whips around, pulling back slightly until he can see her face. Tall and slender, with a soft curve to her hips, she’s stunning. Sharp curious eyes catch his own set in the strikingly sharp features of her face. Jaskier knows in a moment that those are the kind of eyes that hunt down secrets, dangerous and persistent. 

If that’s the case, he figures he must be safe.

He lets her buy him an ale and lead him to a table towards the back, sliding in across from her. She tilts her tankard towards him in a polite toast and gives him what must be an attempt of a soft smile. There is nothing soft about the way she flashes her teeth at him in the low light. 

“I think we should find something to toast to,” she purrs, her finger dancing around a knot in the table. 

“I’m sure a stunning creature like yourself has plenty of things to celebrate,” Jaskier winks, his nearly brightest smile sliding easily into place, well practiced. He takes a long pull from the ale in front of him and winces. Can’t expect too much from a place like this. It’s flat and tastes off. 

“Oh I certainly do, bard. Tell me, while I still got you for a moment,” She rests her chin on her laced fingers as she cocks her head and grins, “What’s it like? Being in love with a witcher?” 

Jaskier tries to jump up from the table but his head swims. He looks down at his drink then back at the woman, scowling. “Oh… very bad.” The sound of her pleased laugh is the last thing he registers before everything goes black.

~~~~

Cold. Jaskier is cold. 

It’s the first thought that really makes any kind of sense. He’s cold and he’s livid. 

He shouldn’t have taken that drink from the very obvious witch. And now he is cold and his head hurts and he is in such deep shit. 

“Good morning, bard!” He scrunches his nose and peaks through bleary eyes into a dim but warm room. “We have so much work to do before your _friend_ comes and fetches you.”

He sighs, bringing his hand up to rub against the bridge of his nose and is relieved to find that he’s not bound. “When this headache wears off, you’re going to feel very foolish,” he grouses. He doesn’t miss the way she says ‘friend’. It’s the same tone the aldermen and the barkeeps and even Yennefer took on when he was still traveling with Geralt, the implication barely concealed behind one phrase. “He would be the first to tell you, we’re not friends. Trust me, I was there when he made that point perfectly clear.”

“You think it’s true, then? What they say?” She glides between the herbs hanging from the ceiling, peaking at him between dried stems. “That the witcher’s have their emotions snuffed out-”

“My lady, you will stop right there if you know what is good for you,” he braves the searing in his eyes as he fixes her with a glower but holds his tongue. Jaskier considers that waxing poetic about Geralt right now wouldn’t do him any favors.

For a moment her eyes go wide, her angled brows nearly disappearing into her hair before she grins, big and sincere. “I feel as though I might have struck a nerve. Well, never mind that then. We’ll just see for ourselves when he arrives, shall we?”

He can’t help the snort that escapes him, humorless and pained as he turns, taking in the dim little hut. “He won’t come, or did you miss the part where I said we weren’t friends?” He spits, turning to meet her gaze again. 

“He’s saved you before. Countless times, if the stories are to be believed,” she takes a bundle of herbs in her hands, winding a thick red cord around them. “You see, I have always been curious how much of the man they take when they make the monster. And what better way than to hit him where he’s softest,” She smirks, leaning in and whispering conspiratorially, “Though we both know he may have some softer spots than his bard, but a soft spot you still remain!” 

“You’ve clearly overestimated any hold I may have or have had on Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier raises his chest slightly, trying to push past the stinging behind his eyes. “I don’t know what makes you think that someone like that would ever put everything he has at risk for something like me. The stories you heard were ballads written by a lovesick fool who only ever got in the way. So make your threats, witch, but I can tell you now, you’re just wasting your time,” he blinks hard but doesn’t give her an inch as she crowds in close.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun, you’ll see!” She reaches up and taps against his forehead and for the second time in nearly as many days, the world drops out from around Jaskier into inky blackness. 

\-------

The hut is small. Dark. There are herbs hanging from the ceiling, the scent hanging in the air. Against his chest, his medallion vibrates. Latent magic could mean traps. Could also mean that the witch is still nearby. 

Geralt is going to have to act quickly if he wants to rescue Jaskier without being seen. The last thing he wants to deal with is an angry sorceress. Hopefully whatever Jaskier did to piss her off was minor at best. 

Immortals hate being slighted, but they grow bored easily. Whether or not that’s an asset here remains to be seen. 

Slowly, he creeps into the hut, sword in hand. The steel weapon is a familiar weight. Comforting. 

It does not compare to the sight of seeing his companion again for the first time in… months? Years? 

Jaskier is passed out on a small bed. A hand lays over his heart. An arm is outstretched towards a second empty bed. His breathing, irregular. Were it not for Vesemir’s training, he would have rushed to the bard’s side in an instant. 

First, Geralt checks around the hut. Peers into the darkest corners, behind threadbare curtains, and searches for any illusions. There’s nothing that he can see. 

In the grand scheme of things, that means jack shit. 

The sooner they leave, the better. 

Finally, he sheathes his sword and walks over to Jaskier’s side. He kneels down. Places a hand on his shoulder and gently shakes him. “Jaskier. _Jaskier_.” 

Nothing. 

Shit. 

It’d be better if Jaskier could walk out of here on his own. Would also be good to know what condition he’s in. Though there’s no blood in the air, his medallion hasn’t stopped vibrating. The closer he got to Jaskier, the harder it shook. 

He’ll have to take a gamble. Yennefer and Jaskier aren’t the greatest of friends, but the sorceress may be curious enough to take a look at him. 

Fuck it. He’ll find someone, anyone to remove whatever spell is on him now. As carefully as he can manage, Geralt pulls Jaskier over his shoulders and stands. 

As he turns, he feels a pulse of magic. 

A portal opens before him. 

The witch enters the room, a self-satisfied smile on her face. 

Geralt’s hand flies to his sword. It would be difficult fighting with Jaskier on his back like this, but he’s fought under worse conditions. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” She says. Her voice is silky smooth. A practiced liar. Suddenly, Geralt doesn’t have to wonder how Jaskier fell into her trap. Typical. Distantly, he thinks about dropping him on the floor. “You see, I can kill him with a snap of my fingers.” 

“Then why haven’t you?” 

“Curiosity.” 

Geralt fucking hates curiosity. It brings out the worst in powerful people. 

“Hm. Don’t give a shit about your curiosity.” 

“Do you give a shit about anything at all?” The witch takes a step forward. His grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. “I wonder.” She takes another step forward. 

Honestly, Geralt is fucking done with sorceresses. In a sharp, sweeping motion, he stabs her through the gut. Watches with satisfaction as her face twists into shock and despair. 

It felt easy. He expected more. 

Then she begins to fade. Her body flickering in and out of existence. 

Behind him, far too late, he hears the rush of energy. Her hand at his back, pressing her cold fingers behind his heart. “I thought you’d be smarter,” She giggles. “All the more fortunate for me. Now be a dear and hold _still_.” 

As if he could move. Something within him is tethered, held in place. Being pulled towards _something_. 

He drops Jaskier and falls to his knees. 

Geralt’s head is _pounding_. Information is being poured inside, though what he couldn’t be sure. 

The witch circles around him and look at him with a glint in her eye. “Fascinating. To have made it this far. I suppose they don’t tear out every part of you, do they? Here’s the proof of it…” 

In her hands, Geralt can see a bundle of herbs. Around it, a red cord. He’s never seen such a thing before, but knows that that’s the source of this spell. 

Geralt extends his hand and casts _igni._ Watches the herbs and the witch go up in flames. This time, he’s sure that this isn’t some illusion. Good. That would annoy him more than whatever spell she’s put on him. 

While she screams, Geralt grabs at his sword, and thrusts forward. Her eyes blaze as hot as the fire. Good thing he’s got no problem watching her melt. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t end the cacophony ringing in his head. Noise and nonsense. Fuck. He presses a hand to his head and closes his eyes. A darker room might help. Usually does when he’s still hopped up on a potion. 

Geralt isn’t one to pray, but he hopes against all odds that whatever fucking curse the witch cast didn’t complete itself. 

Either that, or it’s temporary. 

But if all Geralt has is luck, then he is well and truly _fucked._

\-------

It starts in flashes. Then in trickles. Jaskier sucks in air as something like an ocean slams into his head while something far more exact wraps around his chest. A kind of trepidation that feels more like a splinter under his skin than something that is his own weedles it’s way past the pain behind his eyes. Other feelings, alien though strangely not unwelcome begin to wind their way into his own. 

There’s a relief in his chest, a sense of confusion and annoyance and a quiet resignation. 

That thing around his chest tightens, cinching in until it feels like his pulse travels along a cable and he shivers when he feels a slower one beat back. 

But then there is smoke and there is screaming and there is a weight beside him, trying to scoop up his prone form. He opened his eyes to find Geralt beside him, pulling him up and something hot white burrowed into his spine. 

Of course. Of fucking course Geralt had come into the very obvious trap and now the whole hut was going up in flames. He groans and rolls onto his side to push himself up, carefully pulling away from Geralt.

“Door’s that way,” the witcher pointed through the smoke that was starting to fill the room. 

“Great. Thanks.” Jaskier couldn’t keep the snap out of his voice. Geralt had no business being here and now he also felt off. Weighted somehow. It was making his skin feel tight. But maybe that was just the heat that was starting to build around them as the herbs on the ceiling started to catch flame. 

They made it out, Jaskier coughing and gasping for fresh air before turning on his heel. For a moment, they just stared at each other, Geralt shifting awkwardly while Jaskier rolls his tongue between his teeth. 

“Geralt, what the fuck are you doing here?” 

Geralt was doing that thing with his face where he was looking indigent and pestered but there was something under it that made Jaskier think he might be stinging. And that just. That wasn’t going to stand. 

“Oh no. No! You do not get to stand there and look at me like that! This was clearly a trap, Geralt! And you just walked right into it. You made it very clear that you didn’t want me around shoveling you into shit and now you decide to just waltz in on your own?”

Still, the witcher just stands there, looking at him from under knitted brows and a deep scowl. He pushes past Jaskier and walks towards a stand of trees where Roach waits, huffing gently. From behind her, Geralt pulls a hard dark case, the metal hinges catching in the sun. 

Jaskier’s lute. He holds it like it’s made of glass and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say Geralt hesitates before turning back to him. There’s those flashes again, muted but undeniable, beating down into his chest along a thread. They come in shades of regret and misery and… it’s weak and it barely registers as a flutter against a part of him he’s been trying to tune to catch them. But even the ghost of it seems to make an impression. 

He feels himself deflate as he takes his lute, cradling it to his chest, hoping it might dislodge the unsettling feelings lingering there. It didn’t. And Geralt was still staring at him. Without a word. 

“Well, say something, you big oaf! You came all this way, you must be furious,” Jaskier snapped. 

“Are you alright?” 

He nearly drops to his knees to scream in frustration. There is a pounding behind his eyes that he’s starting to think has nothing to do with whatever it was the witch had done to him. Them? Shit. 

What if this was something the witch had done? Was Geralt always this evasive? Yes, but that was besides the point. This could be so much worse. The lute was somehow way much worse. 

“Are you? She didn’t want anything to do with me. I was just an means to an end of getting her hands on you,” He feels exhausted all at once but sets his lute down and as though nothing had changed between them steps up to Geralt to start checking him over. 

“Hmm,” is all he gets in return for a moment as he glances over his armor, finding no new holes or oozing blood. He’s a bit scorched from running out of the burning hut. 

Jaskier doesn’t mean to do it but as he comes around the front, his fingers reach up, tracing the place over Geralt’s heart, trying to make sure it’s still there. There is no way he could but he imagines he can almost feel it, still steadily beating there under his fingers. 

“What did she say she was after?” Finally words that make some kind of sense that feels like an anchor in an otherwise spiraling chain of events. 

“A bunch of untrue nonsense and idle gossip. The usual nonsense people like her think,” he can’t seem to pull his fingers away from the leather, his throat suddenly tight. 

“Jaskier, tell me exactly what she said,” there’s a beat. “Please?”

“Oh, you say ‘please’ now. You might actually be under a spell,” Jaskier gives a surprisingly watery laugh. “She…” he licks his lips, keeping his head down, “She wanted to as she put it ‘how much the man they take when they make the monster’.”

An ache in his chest, muted as the rest of the others makes him look up, as though it willed him to do so. Geralt’s face is still that steady mask of neutral exasperation. Then again, Jaskier has… had spent a better part of his life studying that same mask and knowing when to call absolute bullshit on it. 

“You weren’t supposed to come. Honestly, I’m a bit embarrassed! I made this whole long speech about how there was no way you would be foolish enough to come for something as trivial as a simple kidnapping of a former travel companion,” he steps away finally, his hands going to his hips as rolls his eyes as dramatically as possible. “I’m honestly fine, Geralt, and you don’t seem hurt. I won’t take up any more of your time. I’m sure you’ve got more important things to see to. Scary witches saving the continent, clandestin children to raise,” he wets his lips again, turning and scooping up his lute trying to press down the thudding against his ribs. “See you around Geralt, thanks for the save as always.”

“You’re sad.” His voice is gruff but not unkind. It’s surprised if anything. “And angry, and relieved and… and you’re really sad.” 

Jaskier turns on his heel. “Okay, no. What the fuck, witcher?” He shakes his head, blinking rapidly. This day has to come to an end at some point, has to. 

“That’s a good question,” Geralt looks completely lost as his hand brushes over where Jaskier had placed his moments ago. “You were furious but then you weren’t and instead you were just…” he trails off, looking down. “Hmm. Fuck.” 

It clicks into place, something bigger than he could have anticipated from what the witch had said. 

“You… you are under a spell. But,” Jaskier took a breath, looking up into the sky and blinking hard, “so am I.” Guilt rakes through him and the air here is too hot, too heavy in his throat. 

“Hmm,” he doesn’t see Geralt grab his gear and start in the same direction as him so much as feel him do it. He nudges Jaskier gently with his shoulder as he passes, leading Roach back out of the woods. “Come on Bard, we should probably get this fixed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaskier sighs, muttering under his breath, “Just one more thing I did that needs fixing.” He nearly misses that splinter feeling under his skin of a guilt that is not his own and a longing that is starting to only grow. That one is easy to dismiss though. Jaskier has always been longing. 

-

It’s loud. So fucking loud. All the… emotions stemming from Jaskier are bright, flashing colors behind his eyes. 

Some are easier to read than others. Sad and mad among the easiest. Beyond those… things get complicated. 

For once, Jaskier might be more suited to handle spells and enchantments better than _he_ can. 

Fuck. He rubs his temple. Maybe the years of training will help him here. 

Vesemir worked hard to teach the wolves how to compartmentalize everything. Panic. Fear. Grief. 

Love. 

Geralt scowls. 

It’s bad enough that Yennefer can and does read whenever she pleases. A direct line from himself to someone he’s slighted isn’t any better. 

The spell could be temporary. She would have to be a powerful witch to make something lasting. 

Yennefer can break it, he’s sure. She must. Jaskier wanted to go off on his own. To… do whatever it is famous bards do. Play in higher courts. Dress in ridiculously flashy clothing. Sleep in warm beds, far away from the danger one would find on The Path. 

_Fuck._

The journey to Kaer Morhen under normal circumstances is difficult. 

Having an undefined enchantment between himself and Jaskier makes it grueling. 

Geralt is no better at reading his emotions a few days in then when they were first bespelled. 

It’s just constant sadness. An ache that hasn’t dissipated once. 

Seeing as their last encounter ended… somewhat poorly, Geralt can understand why he may not want to be around him. 

He knows, then, that the sooner they get this done, the better. They will go their separate ways. Perhaps Yennefer can even give him some sort of charm, so that no one else will use their. Their _connection_ against Jaskier in the future. 

May this time be the last that the bard is hurt because of him. 

If only so that he doesn’t have to feel that pain echo inside of him. 

Thankfully, Kaer Morhen’s ruined walls appear on the skyline before long. 

Beside him, Jaskier gasps. 

While he takes in the sights, Geralt tries to decipher all the feelings bubbling up. 

Happiness. (Odd.) Easy enough. 

The ever present sadness, still lingering. 

Something else. Beneath the surface. Deeper than anything. 

If there’s a name for it, Geralt doesn’t want to know. Pushes it down, with the rest of his feelings. Everything, tucked away so as not to distract himself from what’s most important. 

“When I told you your bard was in trouble, Geralt, I didn’t mean for you to bring him _here_.” 

“Always a displeasure, Yennefer!” 

Having the two of them in one room always manages to cause a headache. This one, in record time. “Can you fix it?” He asks her, ignoring the childish squabble the two of them have fallen into. 

Hurt emanates between the bond. 

“Yes! Quickly. You must save the poor witcher from feeling more than the three basic emotions: anger, annoyance, and disdain. Oh, whatever will he do?” Jaskier lays the back of his hand on his forehead and leans against the wall. 

Yennefer flicks her gaze between them once. Then sighs. “If I’m going to even _begin_ to understand what the fuck you two have done, I’m going to need to understand the spell.” She points to a bench. 

Geralt sits. 

Jaskier does not. “And how are we meant to do that? I was quite unconscious for most of it.” He places his hands on his hips and raises a brow. “Not yet sure that’s a bad thing, actually.” 

Already, Yennefer is examining him. “Have either of you done anything on your own? At all?” She sighs. Her dark eyes narrow. A hand, petite but strong, is placed on his chest. Even through his armor he can feel the coolness of her fingers. “There are a number of different things you can do to help. What did she say? Why did she choose Jaskier? Were there any conduits or herbs involved?” 

Dread, his own, begins to creep up his neck. 

Yennefer is going to be pissed. 

“There were herbs. A red string.” 

“Yes, very descriptive.” She sighs again. Around him, she tends to do that a lot. Yennefer leans back and stands up. Looks at Jaskier. “ _What_ herbs?”

“Don’t look at me! Unconscious, remember?” 

The sorceress sneers. “The entire time? I should do the same. At the very least, things would be quiet,” Annoyance springs up. Though who it belongs to is difficult to tell. “Geralt. Tell me you had an ounce of common sense. The smallest fraction would do.” 

Geralt hums. “They were burnt.” 

“Burnt.” 

“I cast _igni._ ” 

The room grows cold. Yennefer, nearly a head shorter than him, looms. A few of the candles blow out. “So, you mean to tell me,” She says, her voice even. “That you destroyed what may have been the once piece to solve this ridiculous conundrum? You expect me to do _all_ your work?” 

Geralt stands. Still, the witch is unphased. “She was messing with my _head_ ,” He growls. “What was I supposed to do?” 

“Think! For once! Your _impulses_ have now tied you to another person against their will.” 

And there’s the truth of it. In this room, Geralt has done a disservice to the people he… Well. This isn’t what caring looks like. He takes a deep breath. Pushes it down. (Pushes the hurt/worry/curiosity away.) 

Fuck this curse. 

He storms out of the room. 

-

The cold air is crisp. Soothing. 

It’s easier out here. Among the trees and the mountains and the snow. 

This place holds so many memories. Good, bad. All of them are somehow painful. 

Fitting then, to have Jaskier and Yennefer turn away from him so willingly. After the shit he’s pulled… Still. He knows that Yennefer is likely alive due to his wish. Perhaps he could have worded it better. Maybe he could have told her sooner. 

And Jaskier? 

Geralt should have pushed him away sooner. He wouldn’t be so tied to him as he is now. 

They still don’t even know the extent of this. 

Fuck. 

Even from here, Geralt can feel the pain and the confusion. (And that deeper third emotion he refuses to read into.) If Jaskier has any sort of wisdom stored away, now would be the time to use it and _leave_. Distance may cure this yet. 

Of course that’s exactly when he hears Jaskier creep up behind him. 

\------

From where he was leaning against the wall, Jaskier watched Geralt leave, his chin dropping to his chest as he took a deep breath. 

“That was a bit harsh-”

“Nope. Stop it right there bard,” She pours another glass of wine and then another, offering it to him as he moves to take a seat. “He’s going to learn to open that damn mouth of his or I’m going to portal him to the bottom of the sea.” She huffs and takes a long pull from her cup. 

“I hope you’ll at least let me watch,” He matches her drink for drink for a moment as they sit in silence, though not a comfortable one.

“At this point, he knows. And at this point, he still refuses to see it as the truth. So either tell him or leave, though I have a feeling you’re going to have a hard time doing that for a bit,” Yennefer scowls at the door that Geralt just left through. 

Jaskier has half a mind to deny that there is anything for Geralt to know but he is either too exhausted or too done with the excuses he’s built up over the years. 

“And when he throws me off the mountain?” He turns to her, his eyebrow raised.

Yennefer raises one in return, smirking. “I hope he’ll at least let me watch.” 

~~~~

It had been easy enough to find him and he doubted that there was any chance of him actually sneaking up on Geralt so he didn’t bother to try to be too stealthy. 

“Love the way you just stand in the middle of the woods and brood.” 

“Hmm,” is all he gets in return, Gerlat not even turning to face him. It’s probably for the best. 

“See, you’re going to have to help me understand something here, Geralt because honestly, I’m struggling to put together the few pieces I have,” Jaskier takes a deep breath, letting the cold tingle in his lungs for a moment. “You see, I was pretty sure there wasn’t a reason for you to come to my rescue but I wake up and there you are,” he shifts his weight, his hands fidgeting against each other. “One would think I’d have a little bit more insight now that we find ourselves… the way we are, but turns out you’re pretty quiet on the inside too.” 

Jaskier knows he’s rambling, knows that his nerves are up and that his tongue is getting away from him and when Geralt turns to stare him down, he can’t seem to clamp his teeth down fast enough. 

“You should leave,” he says flatly, looking away before Jaskier can even react.

“Excuse me?” 

“Yen was right. I’ve tied you to me against your will and I-” It’s his turn to bite down around his tongue. 

“What if I don’t want to leave? Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to and you damn well know it.” His hands are shaking at his sides. Geralt can probably feel every ounce of emotion coursing through him right now and he’d still choose for Jaskier to leave. “Of course,” he runs his tongue along his teeth as he shakes his head, “of course, you’d still want me to leave.” 

Jaskier wraps an arm around himself, looking over his shoulder back at the keep. How did it go this bad this quickly? Geralt seems as unmoving as ever, even with the connection, Jaskier can only pick up on minor things. It feels like being thrown into a room filled with chests and being told to find a thimble. But all the chests are locked. He finds that he seems to be without the key. 

“Right, well. I don’t think this curse is going to let me regardless of what you might want-” 

“I want you to-” Geralt stops and silence between them stretches and stretches. 

It starts in flashes. Then in trickles. Jaskier sucks in air as something like an ocean slams into his head while something far more exact wraps around his chest. That cable that has felt like a vice strangling him loosens as what were once muted shadows start to take on a shape and sound that is all Geralt. His chest aches with them, filling his lungs with sharp cold air as something warm and familiar wraps around his heart. 

There is doubt here, and guilt, and a kind of self loathing that isn’t surprising but it still makes him wince. There is a kind of skittishness, like approaching a wounded animal and wondering if it’s going to take off or try to bite you. 

And then, slowly, pushing its way in and taking root is…

_Oh._

“Stay?” It was a plea more than a simple request and Geralt sounds on guard and unsure and… _Oh._

“I never wanted to leave in the first place,” Jaskier feels like he’s going to drown.

“I know, I’m-”

“I know. I know, dear heart. We’ll… we’ll work it out. In the morning,” He huffs a laugh and his face stings where his tears trail and cool in the wind. “You’re exhausted,” he says and knows it to be true because not only can he see it etched in Geralt’s face but can feel it as well, clear as crystal, unhidden and unmuted. 

It’s the first time, he realizes, they’ve touched since realizing what the witch had done to them, but when Geralt’s arm slips into Jaskier’s, there’s a shock that runs through them both, and something seems to settle into place. 

They’re quiet as they make their way back to the keep, though they never pull apart from one another. There’s a moment in the hall where Jaskier can tell Geralt is thinking he’s going to go back to his own rooms but as the witcher turns down the hall, Jaskier has no problem falling into step with him. There’s a moment of thrill that blooms between them. 

They don’t say much, and they sleep even less, but Jaskier can’t help the hope that is starting to take hold. He doesn’t even bother to wonder who starts it, only that it’s just the beginning. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow us on tumblr @theamazingbard and @wherethewords are for more nonsense


End file.
